My Almost Lover
by milkshakekate
Summary: Future!Klaine - Kurt is a fully fledged Broadway star and living alone in Manhattan. In an act of lonely desperation, he bumps into an old friend in the most unlikely of circumstances. M for mature scenes and context.
1. Chapter 1

Hello :)!  
>This is my first fic; hope you enjoy!<br>(and don't worry, my OC won't be here for long, for now he's just a plot device! Unless he's approved of by you all... or I decide to mix things up a little.)

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><p>The late afternoon sun seeped through the open window panes of the dance hall. No music prevailed through the ambient urban noise of New York City, rife with the calls of impatient cabs, hurried footsteps and coffee guzzling business men. It was the height of summer, and Kurt Hummel sat on the sweat splashed floor to remove his black ballet pumps, his chest still heaving from his last leap.<p>

"You know, you could take this up professionally, if you wanted to." The voice of his dance partner echoed from the hall's doors. "You've been doing this for years, and yet you still refuse to take it further. What's on your mind?"

"I've got shows to rehearse for; I don't have the time." Kurt excused, leaning back on his hands and stretching his black lycra-clad legs in front of him, reminding himself that the aching pains were only temporary. He'd only taken the classes to help him improve his physical dance performances for his Broadway shows. Kurt's dance partner made his way to the centre of the hall, each footstep reverberating from the high ceilings, across the huge expanse of polished wood, and stopped before the free standing barre.

"Suit yourself. We could really use you for Swan Lake this year."

"I can't, Nick; I'm busy."

The man hovered, leaning on the barre. He eyed Kurt with skepticism, with pity. Nick knew the potential that Kurt had to be a star; his grace, his emotion, his strength, even the omnipresent and distant pain in his eyes; he was the perfect candidate for the role of the Prince, but he refused to acknowledge it. He diverted his interest.

"You seem tense, Kurt." Nick stared at the man before him with concern. "When was the last time you _got_ any?"  
>Kurt scoffed, "What?"<p>

"Maybe you need to loosen up. You've been working like a steam train for the past three months over these upcoming auditions."  
>Kurt looked up beneath his lashes at the towering man above him suspiciously. He pressed his knee to his chest to stretch and continued to cool down. "I'm chasing my dream;" he groaned as he released his leg once more, "I have to work this hard."<p>

"Sure. But, maybe you ought to find a way of…" Nick paused, trying to distract himself from the man's supple movements, "breaking the tension. You know, to unwind a little, let go, recharge… so you can perform better."  
>Kurt caught onto his partner's motives. "And how do you suppose I do that?"<p>

Nick smirked. "I know a place." He paused, gauging Kurt's level of interest. "They have guys around for that sort of thing."

Kurt lifted himself from the floor and slung his ballet pumps around his neck, bending down to pick up his Gucci duffle bag. "I'm not into _that _sort of… company."  
>Nick laughed, "What, you've never visited a whore house before?"<p>

"No, and I don't intend to. Can you imagine the amount of diseases those guys have?" Kurt took the studio keys from his bag and locked up, feeling the presence of Nick and his proposal weighing on his aching shoulders.

"Hey, whatever, man. I'm just suggesting that maybe you should let loose for a while, have a little fun, and _then_ reconsider the offer for going pro." He clapped a hand on Kurt's back, before taking a pen and paper from his jacket pocket and scribbling down the address. He pressed it into Kurt's sweating palm, "Just in case you change your mind."

Nick left Kurt outside the locked dance studio entrance, where he stared at the street name on the crumpled note paper for close on thirty seconds, before stuffing it in his duffle bag. He promised himself never to stoop to that level, no matter how lonely he became.

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><p>At 11:45pm, Kurt Hummel was lying on his bed, awake. His apartment's bedroom window had been opened as far as possible, and an oscillating ceiling fan was blowing feebly onto his clammy skin. Manhattan's humid summer air stuffed the room from the ceiling to the floor, and was suffocating him. Clenching at the white sheets of his suddenly very empty bed, he willed himself to cool down. His hair clung limply to his forehead, and the amber glow of the street lamps highlighted the sheen of sweat that coated his bare chest. Frustrated, Kurt heaved himself off the bed and stormed to the kitchen to get a glass of cold water.<p>

_How can I miss something I've never had? _Kurt thought, taking his glass over to the couch. He sat down and crossed his legs, prodding at the multiple bruises on his thighs and knees from unsuccessful leaps. He cursed himself for being so clumsy. He glanced over to his bedroom; the double doors still open, and revealing his bed to be still devastatingly bare. Kurt grimaced at the duffle bag that rested on the kitchen counter. The address was still in there, taunting him.

_Just in case you change your mind.__  
><em>  
>Kurt snapped himself out of his stupor and took his duffle bag to his bedroom, threw it into his wardrobe and returned to his bed. The time ticked by. He rolled onto his side, desperately craving the closeness of another beside him, holding him, protecting him, breathing him in and reciprocating all the feelings he'd ever wanted to feel for another person. All the feelings he thought he once had, but had been long forgotten, or unrequited.<p>

Kurt felt his hands rest beneath the band of his boxer shorts, almost by default, and knew it was inevitable that _he'd_ be the only one in bed with him tonight. He sighed irritably. Kurt Hummel: Broadway Star, Theatre Extraordinaire, and a pitiful Midnight Masturbator.

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><p>The next morning, Kurt Hummel awoke to the deafening silence of solitude. The yellow cab honks and street vendor calls couldn't penetrate the barrier Kurt felt between himself and the rest of the world. He was lonely, and he had to admit that he was sick of it. His dreams used to hold his head in place. His ambition to star on Broadway, to sing, to dance, and to be adored, were the only things he set his mind upon to get through life's hurdles. They distracted him.<p>

Kurt stared out of his bedroom window at the red bricked apartment buildings opposite his own, his gaze landing on a window box filled with obnoxiously cheerful yellow begonias; they reminded him of Rachel. He reached out to his night stand and picked up his phone, hesitating before pressing the glowing green button at her name.

Kurt and Rachel Berry stayed in touch throughout college; she had insisted upon it. They would call one another every once in a while, to catch up, to give or ask advice, or just to trade gossip. But, no matter how far their gap in communication breeched, one short phone call would reel their connection back to a tight knit. Kurt pressed the call button and waited nervously.

"_Hello?_" Rachel's voice beamed through the receiver.

Kurt smiled, letting his heavy head fall back on his pillow.

"Hey Rachel, its Kurt." He cleared his throat, "Are you busy? I _need _to vent to you. I can't even sleep properly-"

"_Erm, I'm a little busy at the minute, Kurt."_Rachel hesitated,_"We're still rehearsing for opening night, and there are still two acts left to go over…"_

Kurt sighed, defeated. "It's okay, Rachel. Call me when you're free to chat, or come over, whatever. I'll be here. As always."

"_I'm really sorry, Kurt. It's just a hectic- I'll be there in a minute! –week for me. We will catch up soon, I promise. Just do what your heart tells you, let the wind guide your sails, come what may, etcetera, etcetera. Talk soon!"_

Rachel clicked out of contact, and Kurt was left alone in his room. Glaring dismally at his bedside clock, he hauled himself out of the bare apartment to rehearsals, for a distraction.

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><p>Kurt returned home at 11pm, his ankles weary and his throat sore. Hanging his keys on the back of the door and taking off his light jacket, he stopped to listen. Amongst the ambient city drone, nothing but the sound of the ticking kitchen clock and his neighbouring tenant's television disturbed the eerie silence. Kurt cursed before thrusting his arms through his jacket sleeves and leaving the building before he could change his mind.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Hello again :)  
>Here's chapter two!<br>I have Wednesday afternoons off from college, so I had time to finish off this chapter before heading to bed :)  
>I am so excited to start the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!<p>

_P.s, I've introduced another OC (don't worry, he's no distraction...)_

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><p>He couldn't believe he was doing this. Kurt relayed the street name in his head over and over, realising it had never left his mind since Nick had pressed that thin sheet of paper into his shaking hands less than forty eight hours ago He couldn't tell if it was the sticky New York summer air or if it was his own body swelling up with nerves as he neared his destination. He stood at the head of the block, glancing hopefully at the almost empty streets that surrounded him, desperate for a reason to turn back. His wishes came to no avail, and he turned reluctantly down the alley.<p>

A tall, heavily built man stood at the door of the… was it a club? A bar? From the outside, it was hard to tell. It had been camouflaged for the light of day, and now that the evening had loomed, a garish neon sign flashed the name "_Lady's Den_". Kurt gulped lightly before approaching the man, who nodded him inside.

As soon as he'd passed through the steel double doors, Kurt flinched at the stench of the place. A mixture of the acrid reek of alcohol, stale sweat, and thick clouds of incense stuffed the room and made Kurt's head almost dizzy. Grasping around urgently for a sturdy surface to lean on, he landed against the wall beside the double doors, grateful for the occasional hints of fresh air that briefly wafted through the doors. The walls that Kurt desperately clung to were covered by blood red damask wallpaper; aged slightly, with the occasional chip, but the place still had the air of aged charm that wouldn't look out of place in one of Marie Antoinette's boudoirs. Kurt grimaced at the sticky wooden laminate as he tried to orientate himself, cautious of the fact that he was still wearing his ballet pumps. Why couldn't he have just stayed at home?

After a few moments, Kurt turned his attentions to the rest of the room, having finally found his feet and was able to walk further into the bar. He noticed the men, many of which were staring right back at him as he kept his head lowered. It was as if he was in a puzzling dream; he felt naked, and everybody was judging him, staring at him, reading his mind. Kurt wanted to get out.

But he persevered. He hadn't come this far to turn back now.

Kurt pushed his way towards the bar through the surge of bodies, the drone of distant Big Band music buzzing through his ears. He stretched his arm out hopefully and splayed it upon the bar top, shuffling his way between two men who seemed sufficiently unthreatening. They moved aside slightly to let him through; he smiled at each of them thankfully before staring at the upturned liquor bottles ahead of him.

"Can I get you a drink, Kurt Hummel?" The man to his right asked loudly over the music, turning his body to give him more room.  
>Kurt whipped his head around anxiously, "Sorry, have we met?"<br>The man laughed warmly, "Oh no, forgive me! I saw you in _Jersey Boys_ last summer, you were fantastic."

Kurt smiled cordially, thankful that it wasn't a friend of his to witness this horrific act of desperation. "Thank you. It's nice to meet fans. I'll have a dry martini and lime."

"Good choice."  
>The man leaned forwards to catch the bar tender's attention, to which he was dutifully returned. Kurt eyed him fiercely whilst his back was turned, noticing the strong definition of his broad shoulders through his tight grey shirt. He imagined what it felt like to hold on to such an invitingly wide spans of warmth, how it would feel beneath his fingers. Kurt looked away before he was caught ogling, blushing.<p>

"So, I've never seen you around here before." The man extended a strong hand, "I'm Mark."

Kurt shook his hand hesitantly. "It's my first time here. A friend of mine… recommended it to me."

Mark grinned compassionately, "Don't worry about it; the guys here are nice. They'll look after you." He paused. "That is what you're here for, right?"  
>Kurt's eyes widened and he turned back to the bar. "I don't know." He shook his head and laughed under his breath. "I don't know why I'm here."<p>

"Then just enjoy the music, make some friends and have a couple of drinks." Mark handed him the dry martini he'd ordered and gestured towards the crowd in a sunken area of the bar, a swaying mass of men that cheered and clapped for the performers. "You're not obliged to do anything."

"You sound like a regular here." Kurt said bravely, turning back to the man's face and finally managing to look him in the eye.

"Well, technically I _own_ the place." Mark grinned and rolled his eyes. "Well, it's my partner's, but I help out."

Kurt's mouth formed a small 'o' and turned back to the bar. His _partner_.

"I've got to go; I'm meant to be on my break." Mark clapped a warm hand on Kurt's back, "It was nice meeting you, Kurt Hummel. Have fun tonight, and I hope I'll be seeing you back here again soon."

Kurt waved weakly as Mark shifted through the crowd of dancers. He was alone again. _This was such a stupid idea_. Kurt cursed. _I feel ridiculous._

Kurt turned nonchalantly towards the miniature stage as he heard a new act being announced. If he wasn't going to brave finding a man to take home, he could at least appreciate the music before regretting this evening completely. A wild gush of applause, whistles and cheers rose from the sunken crowd as a sharp suited man appeared from behind the velvet curtain backstage. He waved modestly as he took a seat at the wheeled piano on the left hand side of the stage, grinning at his adoring audience, which had grown considerably since his presence had been announced. Kurt was almost entirely alone at the bar, as almost every other guy in the venue had crowded as close as possible to the man on stage. Kurt swept his eyes across the room towards the man as he placed his fingers on the piano keys, his gaze resting lovingly on the keys for a few moments before he began a piano adaptation of _Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder _by Dean Martin. The crowd cheered once more, before lowering to a respectable almost-silence to listen to the performer, their faces mesmerised.

The man breathed seductively into the microphone with his opening notes, "_If you should leave me, I know it would grieve me…__So honey, please remember," _" He closed his eyes, his eyebrows furrowing slightly, "_absence makes the heart grow fonder, for somebody else."  
><em>Something in Kurt's chest fluttered wildly. He struggled violently with himself to understand why the mellifluous tones of this stranger's voice wracked such shivers up his spine. He peered closer, leaving his place at the bar and slowly making his way closer to the stage, his heart blasting holes through his rib cage.

"_When the cat's away, the mice will play, I don't say I will but still… I may_" his voice ducked on the last word, making Kurt's knees almost buckle beneath him. There was something about the way his voice projected, his movements, his facial expressions… Everything about this man oozed charm and sex appeal. His charisma and his stage presence contrasted violently with the seedy surroundings; a man with such refinement, such sophistication… he stuck out like a diamond in a coal mine.

"_I may be blue, away from you, and then again… I may be gay_" The man winked suggestively and beamed a dazzling smile, the audience laughed in uproar and wolf whistled at him. He shook his head as he laughed at himself. He continued to play, his fingers gracing the keys with such floating effortless that Kurt began to doubt whether he was even playing at all, or if he were just caressing the instrument with well practiced hands.

Kurt was almost meshed amongst the others in the sunken pit, stood on the outskirts, almost nervous to be caught between the bodies of so many other men at once. He needed to get closer, to look him in the eye. There was something so familiar to Kurt that reminded him of the way his stomach used to flip, when his breath would hitch in his throat and his eyes would flutter at the sound of that voice, that _voice! _He waited for him to finish the song, and stood well back when the crowd begged and pleaded for an encore, the booming of one hundred men clapping their hands and shouting compliments, pick up lines and disappointed goodbyes as the man stood from the piano to leave, waving humbly to his adoring fans before disappearing off stage. The crowd split like snooker balls and returned to the bar as the house band reappeared to play once again.

Kurt felt a pit at the bottom of his stomach grow. He needed to get a closer look at this man to figure out why he'd been so drawn to him. Perhaps it was the magnetism that attracted every other man in the venue; he was _irresistible_. Kurt knew that if he didn't get a good view of this man's face, to hear his voice, to watch him walk, he'd be lying awake until he did. Kurt's eyes darted around to find the exit. Upon finding it in the far right corner of the venue, he made a beeline directly towards it, gasping apologies for elbowing through the crowd. He pressed the weight of his body upon the silver bar and pushed his way into the open air, inhaling deeply, before regretting it immediately as he'd surfaced right beside a dumpster.

Another door squeaked open beside Kurt, the light from indoors shone onto the alley wall to reveal a silhouette emerging from the glow. Kurt rapidly ducked behind the dumpster, holding his breath as he witnessed the night's star performer enter the alleyway. It was dissonantly quiet; Kurt could hear the man's heavy sigh as he left the alley, making his way onto the main avenue.  
>Before he could think, Kurt had edged out of his crouching stance and was following the silhouette through the darkness.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry that it's taken me so long to upload this! I've had school work and coursework to catch up on; A Level exams soon, ugh. I'll be quicker next time :)  
>Also I p<em>romise<em>it will get to the good bit soon! Even_ I'm_ getting a bit impatient. Enjoy!**

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><p><em>What am I doing? <em>Kurt thought, stealthily ducking around lamp posts, almost comically, to attempt to remain inconspicuous. _Am I really stalking this guy? Really? _His light footsteps were barely audible, but the severity of the situation echoed them through his mind louder than anything Kurt had ever heard, each step making him cringe. The man picked up his pace a little, looking left and right before crossing the street. Kurt struggled to keep up as he turned a corner, afraid of losing him.

_What exactly could I say to him?_ Kurt cursed inwardly; _I bet he's so sick of men trying to flirt with him. Maybe he isn't even single..._ Kurt shook his head, desperate to stop his thoughts trailing any further. He wasn't _stalking_, he was _observing. _Kurt watched the man's walking become less and less certain as he walked further downtown. He held onto his right arm with his left hand tightly, holding himself, before shooting a glare in Kurt's direction and turning another corner briskly.

From the little that Kurt could see beneath the amber street lamp, he could have sworn that face was familiar. He knew; there was something in the brief almost-eye-contact that struck a nerve in Kurt that he hadn't felt in years, something deep in his intestines that wriggled and fluttered and made him feel almost woozy.  
>Before Kurt knew what he was doing, he had begun a light jog in order to catch up with the man that had quickly disappeared from view, knowing that playing it cool could risk losing him altogether.<p>

Kurt was merely feet away from the corner he had just turned, before he was hit square in the jaw with a rock hard fist, knocking him hard to the ground with a _thump_.  
>Kurt instinctively drew his hands to his face and cradled his chin; he felt blood trickle down his neck and wrists as he tried to stifle the pain, his breath wracking painfully from the shock. Kurt lifted his head, his neck straining with the suddenly unbearably heavy weight, to expect to find his attacker running or at least attempting to mug him. To his surprise, the man simply stood and stared down at his crippled figure on the tarmac, the arms which previously clutched at one another simply hung by his sides. Kurt noticed his fists were still clenched.<p>

"Kurt?"

Kurt looked up, struggling to peer past the glare of the overhead street lamp.

"_Blaine_?"

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><p>Kurt Hummel sat in a small New York diner with Blaine Anderson, his feet hanging loosely over the foot rest of the squeaky red bar stool. He crossed and uncrossed them awkwardly as Blaine tapped his fingers on the stainless steel bar in front of him.<br>"Sorry about punching you in the face." He half laughed.

Kurt didn't say anything; he couldn't look him in the eye. He'd never been caught so desperately between the urge to run as fast as he could, and as far away as possible, and wanting to throw his arms around the neck of his unrelenting high school flame and suffocate him with lusty, longing kisses. He wondered if his lips still tasted like slow roasted coffee.

The fluorescent strip light that hung above them flickered. The unflattering white light glared over every surface, including Blaine's face, which Kurt noticed looked particularly strained and washed out. Something was still there, though, that was so undeniably, irrevocably and so crushingly _Blaine_. The slight and shallow creases that had formed around his eyes over the years, the soft curve of his tan cheek bones, and the soft yet inviting definition of his strong jaw and neck, which Kurt watched, intrigued, like a child at a magician.

"I'm sure it won't leave any major bruising."

Kurt blinked out of his reverie and smiled dully, desperately wanting to wake from this dream that he was so sure he'd lived through before. The waitress returned with a tea towel filled with ice, handing it over to Blaine, who hesitated before leaning out to press it to Kurt's jaw, "This will relieve some of the swelling, at least."

Kurt's face tingled at the gentle pressure that Blaine's hand had on his face. He saw Blaine smiling sadly out of the corner of his eye. He'd never wanted to hold onto somebody so tightly before. He didn't know if it was his desperation for the affection of another human being, or if Blaine's unexpected presence had thrown him off guard. The lump in his throat wavered as he tried to suppress the choking tears, wanting so desperately to rest his head on the man's chest, to be soothed and cared for, to be welcomed into the arms of somebody willing to just _listen_. Kurt's neck tensed a little before reluctantly reaching up to hold the towel himself, careful not to make contact with Blaine's fingers.

"Thanks." Kurt mumbled. Blaine's face softened at the sound of his voice, pleased that he would say anything at all.

"So… how have you been?"

Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"We haven't seen one another in almost ten years, and that's all you have to say?"

Blaine's eyebrows furrowed. "What else am I meant to say to you? I want to know how you are, how you've spent all these years. I need to catch up somehow."

"I just expected it to be a little more..." Kurt didn't finish. What had he expected, really? If anything, he was still fiercely embarrassed about being caught chasing the man down the street. Had he really expected a merry and affectionate reunion? He heard Blaine exhale beside him; Kurt still hadn't turned to look him in the eyes that he'd tried so desperately to forget.

"I've been fine." Kurt said finally. "Better than fine, actually. I've been living the dream." He played with the straw in his strawberry milkshake and smiled to himself. He was proud. Proud of escaping small town Ohio, of climbing to the top, of using his talent to fuel his dreams of becoming a star, beyond the oppressive heat of his school peers. Of course, he missed the welcoming warmth of home, his family and his friends, but he couldn't deny being reeled in by the open invitation of the stage, of the applause and the _acceptance_.  
>He missed Burt the most.<p>

"I've seen you on the posters." Blaine smiled warmly. "I'm very impressed; you've done so well for yourself, Kurt." He laughed a single tone lightly under his breath, "Though, I'm certainly not surprised."

Kurt didn't know what he was waiting for, but he didn't speak immediately.

"You've always had something extraordinary in you, Kurt."

Kurt's fingers trembled around his milkshake glass, he gulped warily. Kurt felt a warm, strong hand land on his. "I'm glad I finally ran into you. Or you into me, whatever."

"You certainly have a way with words."

Blaine laughed, flashing his Hollywood smile, and withdrew his hand again. Kurt grieved the absence.

"So how have_ you_ spent your wonder years?" Kurt asked, "You must have some interesting stories to tell, considering you've ended up in New York City."

Blaine shuffled uncomfortably in his chair and licked his lips. He opened his mouth to prepare to speak, but closed them soon after. "I don't really have a story."

Kurt frowned. "But-"

"I'd really rather not talk about it right now, Kurt." Blaine hurried. He noticed Kurt's retracted expression and back peddled. "It's getting pretty late. Can I give you my number? We should catch up."

"I'll walk you home." Kurt said quickly, hopping off the bar stool. He cringed to himself. He must seem so desperate, so _needy_. He just couldn't understand why he so strongly refused to let Blaine out of his sight. Something screamed at him that it was a bad idea. What if he never saw him again? Kurt hoped that the insufferably harsh lighting didn't magnify his dread.

Blaine looked reluctant, he dropped his gaze to the floor. "Sure, thanks."

With one fleeting glance at one another, the two left the diner, Kurt following Blaine's footsteps as he trudged out into street.

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><p>They hadn't spoken a word since they'd left the diner; their hands never once brushing against one another's the way they once had, their feet never gracing the ground in unison; their heads remained heavily lowered. Kurt listened to Blaine's occasional intakes of breath, as if he were ready to say something, but ached to find he never spoke. The distance was killing him; he had missed his friend's presence, his overwhelming warmth and compassionate understanding, his touch. Kurt had never experienced the desire to seize another person into his arms with so much fire in his heart, so much need and want, and his body pleaded with him to breach the gap that seemed to grow further and further with each step they took.<p>

Blaine stopped walking, his hand fumbling in his pocket for a moment before it reemerged with a single key. Kurt finally looked up from the ground at the cement building before him, he frowned_. This is where Blaine Anderson had ended up?_ Kurt frowned at the row upon row of rusted iron bars that grasped onto the cracked plaster, like weakening fingers to a sheer rock face; the glass behind them was murky and splintered. Above the two men hung endless webs of tangled washing lines, scoring black across the yellowed fog that rested like a suffocating layer over the city. Kurt felt sick, and swore he could hear a gun shot in the distance. He breathed a sigh of relief when Blaine barged his way through the door.

"Lousy key." Blaine muttered under his breath. Kurt smiled politely and hesitated at the bottom of the concrete steps, waiting to be bid farewell. He watched as Blaine turned at the door, looking Kurt straight in the eye. "Would you like to come in?"


	4. Chapter 4

** So, I finally updated! I've decided it would be way too cruel to leave you on YET ANOTHER cliff hanger, so I waited until I'd finished two chapters worth before updating. Hope it was worth the wait!**

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><p>Kurt followed Blaine as they climbed further up the steps of the dilapidated building, his heart racing due to more than just the steep ascent. What plagued Kurt's mind more than the notion of entering Blaine's apartment, however, was how the man had ever ended up in such a run down part of town. At McKinley, Kurt had only ever expected the best from Blaine. If anything, he had almost <em>envied <em>his inevitable future success. He had the grades, the confidence, the voice, the wealth; well, granted that his parents held_ little _acceptance for his sexuality, he'd still expected them to have given him a head start, if not only for their family name's sake. He dreaded to think of their reactions if they knew that their only son was working as 'evening entertainment' in a downtown gay bar.

Kurt stared at Blaine's back as he ascended; the shoulders which once were held broad and steady were now wilted, as if he'd lacked the incentive to grace the world with his presence. His back arched forwards as if he were weighted with a ball and chain, and his feet trod clumsily on each subsequent step. The Blaine he'd seen on stage, the handsome stranger, with men hankering after his every word, wasn't the Blaine he saw before him. He wondered what dragged him down to Earth with everybody else.

Kurt thumped into Blaine's back as he stopped dead at the top of the flight of stairs. Peering over the man's shoulder, Kurt saw three light brown cardboard boxes on the floor of the landing. Blaine's shoulders sunk lower before he slowly side stepped around the boxes and towards what was presumably his apartment door, retrieving the key from his back pocket. He jabbed the key into the lock forcefully, cursing as it wouldn't twist to its usual _ker-thuck_. Kurt stood awkwardly at the head of the stairs, cradling his elbow in one hand. Blaine straightened his posture before turning back to Kurt, "Excuse me, one moment, please."

Kurt nodded tersely. Blaine ventured further down the hall and turned another corner, heading up another flight of stairs. Kurt listened out for the loud, determined knocking on one of the apartment doors above. The door was opened; Blaine's voice was muffled, but the authoritative yet compassionate tone was still clear to Kurt's ears. Another mumbled speech, high and stubborn, rang through the hall. Blaine's voice again, pleading; he kept his voice low but Kurt could still sense the desperation in his voice. Despite his instincts, Kurt remained where he stood, rather than follow Blaine to offer assistance; he rocked back on his heels, listening to the increasingly loud bickering occurring above him. His legs aching to join Blaine upstairs, Kurt heard a door slam heavily and Blaine's footsteps padding quickly down the stairs, joining him at the base of the landing, his breath heavy.

Blaine stopped in front of Kurt, his chest stuttering; Kurt couldn't tell if he was out of breath or shaking with anger. Blaine's lips opened and closed as Kurt waited patiently for him to speak, trying desperately not to linger too long on the almost inaudible gasping escaping the man's mouth.

"I've been evicted…" Blaine breathed, his eyes not quite meeting Kurt's. He half laughed.

Kurt stood silently, not knowing where to look. This shouldn't be happening; Blaine Anderson could sweet talk his way through any obstacle, how could anybody resist his charms? In a fleeting leap of confidence, Kurt tried to side step the man in front of him to make his way upstairs, but was blocked by a strong hand against his chest.

"She said she'd call NYPD if there was any more trouble." Blaine let his hand slip down Kurt's chest lightly before running it through his hair. "They're repossessing my furniture, Kurt." His voice cracked, he swallowed quickly.

Noticing the man before him beginning to break, Kurt placed a hand unsurely on Blaine's shoulder. "Come and stay at my place tonight, Blaine." He said, so softly, "We can fix this tomorrow."

Blaine turned towards him and looked him in the eye, "Are- are you sure, Kurt?" His eyes strained as he glared at the floor again, shaking his head. "I feel like a nuisance… to tell you the truth, I am incredibly embarrassed… maybe I should get a hotel…"

"You're _not _staying at some seedy downtown hotel." Kurt said with more authority than he'd anticipated, "You can stay on my couch, just for tonight."

Blaine smiled weakly, his eyes creasing as he blinked hard. He reached for his shoulder and placed his own hand on top of Kurt's, "Thank you," he squeezed lightly, "you've always been so good to me, Kurt."

Kurt winced slightly and, blushing, withdrew his hand. The two men stooped down to pick up the boxes, heartbreakingly light to hand, and carried Blaine's only possessions down the stairs and onto the street.

Kurt hailed a slow rolling taxi and put the boxes in the trunk. They sat in silence, the tension in the muggy air thick enough to cut with a knife. Suddenly, hard, heavy bullets of summer rain crushed the roof of the cab, the rhythmical hammering felt like a barrage of drums in Kurt's ears. Hurriedly, both men wound up the windows to shield themselves from the splashes that shot through the open glass and onto their laps. Now, the car felt like both a protective shield and a coffin; the straining nerves coursing through Kurt's limbs felt like too much, he wanted to open the window, to breathe; was this really happening? He felt like he was suffocating again. He breathed deeply through his nose and Kurt tried to force himself to say something, anything, to break the gorge-like gap between the two of them. He wanted to reassure Blaine that he will find a place to stay in due time; he was welcome to stay as long as he wanted…would that be too much, to propose something like that so early? He'd wait until tomorrow; time will tell how this scenario will pan out. He felt his hand ache with the need to reach over and grab the hand of the man beside him. He couldn't decipher if it were out of need for passion, the desire to feel the warm, secure grip of another human on his now sweating palms, or to comfort his friend. Kurt almost wept with relief when the cab pulled up at the curb.

Kurt paid the cab driver and stepped out into the flooded street. Blaine opened the trunk and retrieved two of the boxes as Kurt rushed around to grab the other. Slamming the trunk closed, they hurried into the dry heat of the cozy foyer, desperate to be out of the quickly worsening storm. Kurt swept a hand through his soaked hair before advancing further through the hall, the marble floors catching the drips from his clothes. Blaine's neck arched around to capture the charming elegance of the place, the paintings, the plants; a small living area, crowded around a Victorian style fireplace, branched off from the hall in which they stood.

Kurt broke his reverie by beckoning him over to the elevator with a nod, a finger of his free hand hovering over the button. Blaine hurried over and sidled next to Kurt, careful to not to knock the boxes out of his hands. The doors closed softly. Blaine turned to look at Kurt, his face softening at the sight of such a familiar, yet somehow lightly time altered profile. He wanted to say something, thank him, congratulate him on his success, but before he could part his lips, the elevator door slid open. Kurt edged out and down the short corridor towards the only door on the floor, shifting the box in his grip to fish a keycard out of his jacket pocket. Blaine followed Kurt through the door, wiping his feet meticulously on the door mat.

It wasn't as extravagant as Blaine had expected; there were no pillars, no sky lights, no water features, but everything was so _polished _and so unmistakably Kurt. The tasteful clean lines, the colour scheme, even the thick mahogany book case that lined the wall beside him must have been chosen with such intricate care, and, of course, the books were _all _ordered alphabetically. Kurt always did have an eye for style, and Blaine admired it.

The walls of the entrance hall were navy blue, a white trim tracing the floor and ceiling, drawing the eye further down the slim walk way and offering a glimpse of an open plan living space. After placing Blaine's box to the floor, Kurt flicked a light switch beside another door that led off the hallway, illuminating the space with a soft, warm glow.

"You look like such a tourist." Kurt said bravely, attempting playful mockery, the way they used to; he thought humour might keep his heart from rattling out of his chest.

Blaine didn't say anything, trying hard to keep his jaw from falling slack. Placing the boxes he held beside the door, he followed Kurt through the entrance and into the centre of the apartment. A large, wooden floored spans of both sophisticated, designer furniture and cozy home comforts; a glass coffee table held a carved wooden bowl of potpourri, a few high brow entertainment magazines stacked beside it, accompanied by Alfred Hitchcock's _Rear Window _on DVD. Kurt apologized for the mess, but Blaine had never seen such a remarkable abode. He was caught in a strange concoction of pride, awe, and jealousy. Kurt drew the bamboo blinds over the tall windows, lighting a few table lamps resting on various shelves and side boards. Blaine felt warm and safe. He watched Kurt hurriedly tidy away various knick knacks and lose papers whilst he hung around awkwardly, not knowing whether to sit down or offer to help out.

"Sit down, sit down." Kurt said, pulling some blankets and throw pillows from a carved camphorwood chest. He piled them on the sofa neatly. "I'm going to get a shower, make yourself at home."

Blaine shuffled on his feet; his lips wavered on the words. "Thanks, Kurt."

"For what?" Kurt replied, already half way to the bathroom.

"For letting me stay, for taking me in." He explained, raising his voice as Kurt disappeared through the open double doors and into his bedroom. "You didn't have to..."

"What are old friends for?" Kurt beamed, the en suite door clicking locked behind him.

Blaine winced. _Old_ _friends?_ Was that all they were? Blaine had seen Kurt's face on the billboards plastered around Broadway; he'd seen the fliers, the ticket floggers, the interviews, the Youtube videos… to Blaine, Kurt had never _left_ his life. To him, there had never been a break between them; he'd followed his career, he'd bought the tickets, but, of course, never made it through the theatre doors; he felt like an intruder on something sacred. He didn't _deserve _to be part of something so special, something that Kurt had worked for his entire life. Blaine wasn't in his life anymore, and inwardly he knew that he could never accept that. Kurt escaped his past in Lima for the charm and rebirth that Broadway graced upon his soul. It didn't deter Blaine's determination to follow his success; he'd still read the articles, he'd still watched him rise and emerge as a star that reached the big time. It pained him to know that he hadn't been there to help him to grow, to support him, to stand beside him, rather than hide behind a newspaper.


	5. Chapter 5

Blaine sat down on Kurt's sofa, flicking through one of the magazines left on the coffee table. His frown transformed to an amused smirk at the doodles left on the faces of celebrities; glasses, Harry Potter scars, gap teeth; all presumably etched whilst on the phone to some important industry contact. He pushed away the wallowing feeling of regret, knowing he never should have let Kurt get away. He dropped the magazine back on the coffee table and waited patiently, a clock ticking ominously in the background.

After some time, and after careful deliberation on whether or not to offer Blaine tips on reducing the appearance of eye bags, Kurt emerged from his en suite. He stepped quietly through the door, making his way over to the other side of the room to his walk in wardrobe. Blaine sat on the couch, gripping the arms lightly; unsure whether to start a conversation with the man he _knew_ had just stepped out of the shower, and was probably feeling just as awkward as he was.

Kurt retrieved a pair of dark grey lounge pants from his wardrobe and a navy blue v neck t-shirt, and rested them on his bed to change into later. Meanwhile, Blaine stared brazenly through the open double doors at the half naked figure, watching him pace between the wardrobe and the bed, the white towel hugging his hips _just_ so. Kurt had grown into such a strong, graceful human being; his eyes, of course, remained Blaine's favourite and thankfully unchanging feature, but that _body…_

Blaine stood, his knees slightly weak, and took a few shaking, yet definite steps forwards.

"Do you need to borrow any clothes?" Kurt asked from deep within the wardrobe, searching through his extensive array of hangers for something he expected would fit Blaine.  
>"I was sent some of Marc Jacob's new collection from my agent; the shirts are a little loose for my taste…" he laughed nervously, an attempt to break the silence.<p>

Blaine listened, but hadn't answered; he feared speaking would add too much reality to the situation at hand; he didn't want to wake up. He waited at the door, leaning lightly against the frame, and waited for Kurt to reappear.

As Kurt returned, Blaine's eyes softened, and fell directly onto the blushing face before him. He'd never seen something so delicate, so beautiful, but so very brilliantly _strong_.

"...Blaine?" Kurt asked, clutching the shirt in his hands tightly, his heart breaking through his chest. He caught Blaine's opulent, tea coloured eyes burning into his own, and felt the low pool of anticipation waver in his stomach. He smiled gingerly as Blaine took a few calm steps forward.

Blaine's eyes fell over Kurt's shoulders, the gracious slope of his pale neck to the firm, contoured rise and fall of his chest; he could see Kurt's heart thumping hard and fast beneath his almost translucent skin. Gazing below his lashes with an expression of permission, he waited for Kurt to nod his head, before resting a warm, soft hand on the curve of his neck, Kurt's racing pulse beating against his palm. Goosebumps rose beneath his touch, encouraging a curl on Blaine's lips, his eyes never leaving the man's before him. Kurt blushed again, wordlessly leaning into Blaine's caress like a devoted pet, his heart taking over where his brain needn't interrupt. Closing the gap with one slow step, Blaine rested his broad hand on Kurt's naked waist, which tensed beneath him.

Blaine leaned in, his temple brushing Kurt's, as he whispered hotly into his ear, "Relax."

Kurt's legs weakened as he dropped the shirt he clutched to the ground; his breath shaking as he exhaled into the other man's hair, unsure now of where to put his hands.

Blaine's thumb rolled leisurely circles on his hip, his lips pressing silken, doting kisses from the underside of his jaw to the sensitive dip of his collar bone, all the time pressing closer to Kurt's bare chest with his own. His hand slid surely from Kurt's neck, weaving into the back of his damp hair, his open mouth embracing Kurt's jaw before pressing their hips closer, and closer still. Kurt felt Blaine, hard, against his thigh, and struggled to suppress the unrelenting urge for friction.

Pulling away slowly, resting his forehead against Kurt's, Blaine's ragged breath was audibly shaken. The two men, intertwined and unmoved from the entrance to Kurt's wardrobe, breathed one another in, clutching at one another as if they were being separated by some unseen fate, and seized their bodies closer. Blaine ran a strong, needy hand down the curve of Kurt's spine, landing and pressing tightly against the small of his back, desperate for the intimacy of such a familiar, yet so forgotten rush of passion.

Struggling against using every ounce of his strength to bind their bodies together, and fearing, so regretfully, of harming the man in his arms, Blaine's breath faltered. Kurt cupped Blaine's chin in his hand, lifting it from his chest, where time slowed down to a painful crawl. He searched his eyes for confirmation of what they were doing, where this was going. The amber irises that peered out beneath the coffee coloured lashes aired regret, remorse, desire. Kurt pressed a long, soft kiss to Blaine's lips, his hand sailing across his cheek and into the short, dark curls he was always so fond of, the other gripping powerfully, lustfully, onto his waist band.

Time reeled back into a thrilling chase of lips as Blaine deepened their embrace, the tip of his tongue caressing Kurt's, begging to be enveloped in the warmth. Kurt moaned into his mouth, his hips rolling hard against Blaine's, hands rushing to the buttons on his suit jacket, unpracticed fingers fumbling and grabbing recklessly at the material. Blaine shrugged the jacket off and broke the kiss to begin on his shirt buttons, before Kurt clutched the slim black tie and pulled him back, pinning him roughly against the wall. Blaine groaned, snaking his arms around Kurt's naked shoulders, his fingers threading thirstily through his hair as he forced their lips together again, reveling in the battle of hard tongues, flesh seizing and desperate, needy gropes.

Kurt pulled away to finish popping the remaining buttons on Blaine's crisp, white shirt as the other man grappled for contact, slipping his thigh between Kurt's slightly parted legs, rubbing hard through Kurt's now dangerously loose towel. Blaine ripped the shirt sleeves away from his body and hooked his arms through Kurt's, his hands gripping intensely at any flesh he hadn't yet encountered, the flats of his nails running down the pale skin of Kurt's back; he hissed at the contact, crushing his lips harder against Blaine's.

Blaine pushed Kurt back towards the bed, forcing him down with powerful, determined hands; one still entwined in his soft, still drying hair, and the other pressing passionately down his chest. They slid up the bed; Blaine rested Kurt's head softly on the pillow before kissing, exploring, up and down his pale, heaving chest, and returning to the keenly parted lips of the man below him.

Kurt groaned into the wet heat of Blaine's mouth as his fingers slipped firmly over his nipples. He felt Blaine grin against his lips as his wandering hands returned to the sensitive circles of flesh, rolling them beneath his thumbs and revelling in the gasping breaths emitted from Kurt's dry throat.

"_Oh_," Kurt's legs pressed tightly against Blaine's sides, their hips rutting together in an insatiable rhythm, the friction proving almost too much to bare, "Oh, _Blaine…_" he moaned, his hands clutching messily to the nape of Blaine's neck, his fingers pressing tighter and tighter. The noises Kurt was making below him made Blaine weak; the whimpers, the breathless begs, the yearning growls… they were wearing _far _too many clothes.

Pulling away, Blaine attempted to unbutton his suit trousers, before being heatedly wrestled onto his back in vain. His head rolled onto the pillow as Kurt straddled his legs, pressing his thighs onto the mattress with the weight of his kneeling body, a mischievous smile leered down at him.

Gathering his wits, Blaine laughed under his breath at the beautiful smirking man above him, and ran his broad palms up and down Kurt's slim waist. Pale fingers began working at the button of his trousers, palming roughly at the bulge protesting against the tight fabric. Blaine writhed beneath him as he dashed open the first button, his fingers gradually making their way towards the zipper; he could tell Kurt was enjoying the tease far too much.

Slowly, so painfully slowly, Kurt drew down the zipper, splaying his hands across Blaine's tense lower stomach, before gripping the waist band tightly, backing his way down Blaine's thighs as he pulled, easing them off his aching body inch by inch. Blaine grieved the loss of contact, watching Kurt crawl his way back up the bed before stopping short at his inner thighs, and pressing wet, open mouthed kisses achingly close to where he openly throbbed with anticipation. Blaine watched, intrigued, as those talented lips sucked and lapped over the sensitive skin of his groin, his hips bucking shamefully as Kurt pressed his palms hard into his pelvis, forcing him down into the mattress; he groaned in protest, but soon emitted an adoring moan as Kurt's lips pressed hotly to the bulge of his underwear, lining him with his mouth. Blaine reached down to caress Kurt's neck with longing hands, thanking him, praising him for this almost sinful amount of pleasure.

Kurt swept his fingers up Blaine's inner thighs, excruciatingly gentle, and rested them on the waist band of his underwear.

Trailing his gaze up Blaine's taut, olive skinned body, he finally met the familiar ochre eyes that bore down on him. Kurt silently begged for permission, curious and temptingly chaste; Blaine couldn't nod quickly enough, before grasping Kurt's wrists with fierce fingers, easing the band down together. Kurt flung the underwear to a chair on the far side of the room before turning back to Blaine, naked and waiting. He watched Blaine eye the towel that remained, miraculously, tucked around his waist. Kurt bit his lip, covertly unsure of where this teasing nature had originated, and pried the soft fabric away from his freshly washed body, and tossed it to the floor. He kneeled back down onto Blaine's bare thighs, where he was met with warm, loving palms on his chest.

"You are still _so _beautiful, Kurt." Blaine almost whispered, his eyes lingering nowhere but on the cornflower blues above him, which rolled mockingly as they were accompanied by a faint blush.

"You're only saying that so you can get into my pants."

Blaine barked a laugh, tracing the shallow V line that drew down Kurt's pelvis with his thumbs.

Kurt looked down at him, somewhat darkly, whilst watching Blaine's wrists gyrating on his hips. Every stroke, every brush of the fingertips, sparked a wave of sensation through his body; it was a miracle he hadn't come already. Kurt thought that if anybody had told him he'd have this man on his bed, sweating and writhing between his thighs, two days ago… he would have burnt his whole wardrobe to prove them wrong. He diverted his incredulous thoughts to the striking man beneath him, whose amused smile, _Blaine's_ smile, had dissolved into a bitten lip and closed lidded flag of anticipation. Kurt leant down and pressed more kisses to the broad, thatched chest below him. The smooth hands around his hips slipped onto his thighs, pulling him closer with undeniably impressive strength. Kurt slapped Blaine's hands away; he hadn't finished just yet.


	6. Chapter 6

Kurt's lips journeyed further and further down Blaine's torso, over a stomach which twisted and tensed beneath each heated kiss, open mouthed and fiercely sucking every inch of olive flesh, leaving strained, purpling marks. Blaine squirmed, frustrated and urgent beneath him, his arms aching to pull Kurt's body closer to his own, but whose wrists were seized in a death grip to the mattress. Blaine watched Kurt's head dip as he pressed harder and harder kisses to his lower stomach where the muscles contracted harshly, so _close._

Kurt looked up through his lashes at the sprawled man before him, staring back with captivated, desperate eyes as he noiselessly urged him to continue. Kurt smirked at the tensing wrists in his palms, having absorbed a foreign sense of power over the knowledge that, after all this time, it was _Kurt _who left Blaine begging for more. Without warning, Kurt trailed a long, slow lick up Blaine's cock, his own ears tingling at the sound of the deep moan that shook the room.

Blaine's fists tightened, fighting against the bind with every ensuing lap of Kurt's tongue over him, his kiss swollen lips taking the entire length into his mouth, further and further until the tip was flush against Kurt's hot, wet throat. Blaine cried out as Kurt hollowed his cheeks, sucking harder and faster, tasting every inch of him on his tongue, until he was sure Blaine could take no more. Cruelly, he withdrew his lips and winced at Blaine's frustrated groan; his face pressed hard against the pillow.

"_Fuck_… Kurt," he breathed, "why did you…where did you learn-?"

Kurt straddled Blaine's thighs again, wrapping his fingers back around the throbbing cock beneath him. After a few soft, rhythmic strokes, he bent down; still straddling Blaine's hot, shaking thighs, and pressed a wet kiss to the underside of his jaw.

He whispered softly, almost inaudibly, into his ear, "I watched some movies in High School..."

Blaine's eyes opened wildly, grabbing Kurt's wrists. He pressed himself up against Kurt and bucked rhythmically for some, _any_, friction between them. Kurt moaned loudly, burying his face down into Blaine's neck, sheening with sweat, riding out the numb waves of pleasure aching through him. Blaine rolled their bodies, maneuvering to press himself hard and flush between Kurt's thighs, thrusting powerfully, moaning hard into his open mouth. Soon, despite every instinct to come hard and fast, he slowed, running his hands up the bruised, creamy thighs that curved around him. Kurt's eyes opened, confused by the change in pace, anxious that he'd done something wrong. Blaine smiled down lovingly at him; that breathy, admiring smile reassured him that _nothing _could go better.

"Do you…?" Blaine asked, looking pointedly down between their bodies, his arms straining to hold the weight of his own. "…do you want to?"

Kurt raised an eyebrow, "Bit late to turn you down now, don't you think?"

Blaine's face scrunched into a wide smirk, shifting his weight to hold Kurt's face in his hand. He looked around shiftily, "Do you have any-"

"Nightstand." Kurt said quickly, running his hands down the sides of Blaine's warm body, his fingers tracing the shallow contours of his abs, his tapering waist, landing lightly on the soft curve of his lower back. Something in him still couldn't quite believe this strong, heavy weight above him was really there, that perhaps this was one incredibly vivid wet dream. Kurt grabbed Blaine's ass eagerly, a deep groan emanating from the open mouth above him. Okay, so it _definitely _wasn't a dream.

Blaine leant down onto his elbows and reached into the night stand beside the bed, rooting through the dog-eared paperbacks, moisturising creams and herbal sleeping pills before fishing out a condom and a small, discreet bottle of lube. Kurt traced his fingers through Blaine's chest hair and hooked his hands around his bronze neck, ever touching and caressing as much of him as he could, breathing in the sweat infused vanilla musk of his chest, the throbbing veins, toned muscles, heavy breaths and deep moans falling from his lips with every brush of hot skin.

Kurt watched Blaine with ardent eyes, the man that loomed over him with such a comfortably enveloping power had now knelt back, rubbing the clear liquid over his palms slowly, teasingly, before wrapping his palm around his own cock, looking below his dark lashes at the intrigued man before him. Kurt opened his legs subconsciously, invitingly, as Blaine closed his eyes and tilted his head back, enjoying the preparation a little too much, his arm pumping harder and faster, leaving Kurt able to do little but marvel at the view.

Soon, Kurt grew tired of the emptiness between his thighs and leaned up, grasping a hold around Blaine's neck and forcefully pulling him into a hard, needy kiss, dragging him down into his clutches. He felt Blaine grin against his lips, his breath shaking with hushed amusement at his lover's enthusiasm; Kurt's firm grip on his upper thigh soon scolded Blaine's mocking and enthused a heated surge of passionate kisses to his chest in wordless apology. Kurt sighed with relief as Blaine's fingers trailed from his neck and tantalizingly down his torso, drawing a long, hard line down the base of his cock and brushing lightly against his opening. Kurt tightened with anticipation, all of his muscles clenching and contracting with the urge to feel so much more than the teasing ache of unfed promises.

"I need you to relax for me, Kurt." Blaine spoke thickly, his voice radiating as much lust as Kurt's writhing body undoubtedly illustrated. He waited patiently for Kurt to retaliate, but the involuntarily husky breathes coasting the shell of Kurt's ear did little to help calm him. Kurt almost didn't _want _to soothe this aching desire, the pleasurable tension that strung through him; it felt like nothing _could_. Blaine pulled Kurt's lips into another slow, deep kiss, his tongue caressing and comforting Kurt's, both of their bodies becoming lazy in a relaxed bliss. _Sure_, Kurt thought, _that could work too_.

Slowly, so slowly, Blaine pressed a finger into him, emitting a desperate whimper; the legs Blaine lay between squeezed hard against his sides. Blaine used his free hand to stroke Kurt's thigh, gradually easing his finger further into him, deep and slow, watching Kurt push desperately against the natural force that encased him.

"More," Kurt sighed, a hand knotting into his hair, "_please_, Blaine."

Blaine kissed his forehead, ensuring he was able to insert another, and soon _another_ finger. Kurt hitched up beneath him, pressing their groins together eagerly. He pushed himself into Blaine's palm, riding his hand eagerly; time was moving too slowly, they were stalling.

"I'm ready," Kurt said irritably, "fuck, just stop _teasing_."

Blaine chuckled into his ear; Kurt was never going to get used to the tone of that voice. It dragged back memories, good and bad, of the words he'd had whispered to him before now, before they miraculously found one another again. Kurt pushed away the sudden flush of pain that coursed through his heart. Blaine didn't say a word as he slowly removed his fingers, his mind and soul entirely in the present, and held himself above Kurt's body, his strong arms untiring.

Blaine tore the packet between his teeth before rolling the condom down himself, Kurt's eyes watching his fingers with unfaltering anticipation. He opened his legs wider as Blaine lowered between them once more, pressed his lips lightly against Kurt's cheek, and pressed the head of his cock against the tight, wet muscle of Kurt, slowly deepening himself inside. Kurt's hand knotted itself into his hair, his head turned onto the pillow; eyes squeezed shut and mouth open. The indescribable feeling of being so filled, almost agonisingly stretched, and still so overwhelmed with the sensation of flesh on flesh… Kurt moaned again, and again, in pain and pleasure, swirling and washing over his brain with a fizzing tingle.

Blaine held back from thrusting mercilessly into the tight, snug heat of Kurt, his inexpressible feelings for the man below him and his animalistic desire conflicted harshly, the pace of his hips needing to be physically detained. Kurt saw the struggle etched over his face, sheening in the low light. Kurt squeezed around Blaine, his fingers pressed hard into the soft, taut skin of his broad shoulders. He threw his head back as Blaine brushed slowly against that one spot, his throat releasing guttural groans before his mind could catch up.

"_Faster_, Blaine," Kurt pleaded, "I can take it."

Blaine's fists curled stiffly into the sheets as he withdrew and pressed in, harder, deeper than before. Kurt arched his back as Blaine thrust again, and again, quicker and harder with each rock of their bodies, finding a steady rhythm and riding out the pace, their sweating, aching bodies sliding roughly against one another, Kurt's hands flitting between holding his own hair to curling and tugging his fingers through Blaine's, desperate for a hold on_ anything_ stable, to anchor him down from disappearing into a haze of rapture.

Between whimpered mutterings of Blaine's name escaping Kurt's swollen lips, curses and gasps swamped the air and filled the room to the ceiling. Blaine was _so _close, just the vision of the lean, pale man beneath him, moaning and whispering his name, that it was _Blaine _who was making this beautiful, graceful creature so incoherent and out of control, was enough to make him come right there and then. Determined to see more, Blaine pulled one hand from the mattress and palmed along Kurt's cock in chorus with their heaving bodies. Kurt's gasps grew louder; his hands pulled tighter on Blaine's hair, the warm, broad hand that swept hard over him in talented strokes driving him insane with a foreign, yet inviting savage lust. Kurt all but screamed through the white light as Blaine felt his cock tense and stammer beneath his fingers, hard and trembling, the sight of Kurt's orgasm, his come splayed and glistening wet over his pale, tensing stomach, was enough to encourage his own; the desperate cries for release, the uncontrollable jerking of hips and the heaving chest rising and falling against the mattress; it was too much. Pupils blown and thighs shaking, Blaine came hard and fast, his body shaking as his throat projected a low, primal groan and he collapsed onto Kurt, their skin scorching to the touch and their chests pressed so flush together it was hard to breathe.

Kurt ran a hand through Blaine's curls, his other hand splayed on the warm spans of his back, stroking gently down the curve of his spine. Blaine pulled out of Kurt slowly; a low whine fell from Kurt's open lips at the loss as he removed the condom and dropped it in the bin by Kurt's bed. Blaine dropped forwards and rested again on Kurt's spent body, one hand clutching a bicep and the other pressed strongly against Kurt's ribs, caressing softly. They lay, breathing, coming back down, for what felt like hours. Kurt's come was beginning to bind and stick between their bodies, it was uncomfortable and messy, but the last thing Kurt wanted was to break the sense of temporarily unconditional safety and warmth between them.

Blaine's cheek rested against Kurt's chest, his ear pressed against his heart and listening to the beat with awe. There was something so comforting about the rhythmic thumping of the heart of another; it made him feel so human, it always forged such a wordless connection. They were so different from one another; they had lived such tragically separate lives since the last time he'd heard that heartbeat, watching the pulses raising in Kurt's throat the first time he had told him that he loved him. Suddenly that distance had snapped back, and knowing that this man was back in his life, his heart beat steady and unchanging, was enough to make the weight on Blaine's shoulders dissolve. Blaine threaded his fingers through Kurt's, the heavy pulse of his pale thumbs on the back of his hand was enough to secure the shivering need to feel him, hold his body close, just as two human beings, and pretend he had never made the mistake of letting Kurt go. Blaine nuzzled his temple against Kurt's collar bone and finally sighed, relieved. Kurt pressed a short kiss to Blaine's hair and squeezed his hand lightly. The warmth of Blaine's stomach pressed against Kurt's, their arms laced around one another, their hips pressed closely, and their bare legs intertwined like plaited rope. They were so comfortably tied to one another, limbs touching limbs and hearts touching hearts, as if making up for their lost time. Words weren't exchanged, their eyes and bodies unflinching as they curled comfortably together, never releasing their grip on the other. Their noses touching, their legs interlaced, they slept.

* * *

><p>I hope it was worth the wait; would have had it up quicker but, you know, exams.<br>I never feel like I can give these characters justice, I just love them so muhuhuhuhuuuch.


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